Inked
by Bakerydean
Summary: Bond-mate. The word was not unfamiliar to Dean Winchester. Everyone on Earth at some point in time receives a mark somewhere on their body. Their bond-mate has a matching one. Everyone, that is, besides Dean Winchester. At 29 years old, he's resigned himself to random hookups.One morning Dean wakes up to find that he now has a mark.. in the shape of expansive black wings that cover


Disclaimer: Hey, everyone! I rewrote some stuff. Enjoy! I will have chapter 2 up within the week :)

Tendrils of ink slunk across the expanse of muscle, weaving together stroke by stroke to form delicate feathers that looked as if they might catch hint of a wayward breeze and take him far, far awa-

"Dean!" Sam called from the other side of the motel room, making Dean jump and reflexively move to hide his back. "What are you doing?"

"Sam. I… N-nothing. Just thinking about the case."

"Whatever." Sam replied, using what Dean referred to as bitchface #42.

Dean and Sam had been working this case for almost a week with no luck whatsoever, and they were wearing on each other's nerves already.

"I'm taking Baby out for a drive, okay? She misses the road."

"Fine. I'll be here doing research, and if you find some girl to hook up with, make sure you go to her place." Sam replied, remembering the numerous occasions Dean had forgotten they only booked one hotel room.

Although he knew Baby missed the endless expanse of highway beneath her, Dean had another reason for taking her out. He needed some space to think, without Sam asking questions and turning it into a chick-flick moment. Dean shuddered just thinking about it.

Turning "Stairway to Heaven" up on the radio, Dean finally allowed himself to think about the wings again. Jet black and ginormous, they covered the entirety of his back.

Usually, Dean was not perplexed by marks. They were everywhere in the world. However, he was not used to having one, himself. In his world, a mark meant your soulmate had arrived on Earth. He had never had one and just assumed that he wasn't meant to be with anyone after all he had done. But now…

A thought came to him… _Christo. I am going to be a cradle robber._

* * *

_How am I going to deal with being so much older than her?_ is the only thought that was running through Dean's head. He had hooked up with his fair share of different women, but this was too far. With this in mind, he sped up to a furious pace as if he could somehow outdrive his problems. Miles flew by and before he knew it, Dean was miles and miles away from the bunker. By this point, the sky was as black as the wings that graced his back. Driving down the deserted highway, Dean was lost in thought.

THUMP

"Son of a bitch" Dean yelled. "The hell did I hit?"

Exiting the Impala with one hand on his knife, Dean went to go see what had made the noise.

A man. He had hit a man. A friggin' tax accountant it looked like, if his nerdy trenchcoat was anything to go by.

_Dammit Dean. You already hit him, you can't go around making fun of him in your head, too._

The man's black hair was ruffled and matted with an ever-increasing amount of blood. His clothes weren't any better off: blood stained and tattered to shreds.

"How the hell did Baby do this?" Dean wondered aloud.

"Not... you. Angels did-" and with that statement, the man promptly slumped over.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit _was the new mantra playing through Dean's head. _I killed him._ Dean scooped up the body and momentarily lamented over how long it would take to get the stains out of Baby after this, but promptly dismissed that because after all, it was his fault that the man was in this bloodied state. O_r was it? He said something about angels? Nah. He had to be off his rocker. I've seen a helluva lot of monsters and demons, but no godforsaken angels._

Dean sped towards the nearest hotel, which happened to be in a small town in North Carolina.  
C'mon Sammy, pick up, dammit.

"Hello?"

"Sam. What do I do with the body?"

"Dean? What are you talking about?"

"The body, Sam. I hit some poor guy on the road and I have the body. And he's dead." Dean was cleaning said body while he talked with his brother. Wiping the blood out of the man's hair was a job in itself.

Forgoing a washcloth, Dean was trying to separate the matted strands by hand, so he could get to the wound. _Running his hands through a stranger's hair was much more effective,_ he justified; _a stranger's hair that somehow remained incredibly soft even after being hit by a car,_ Dean shook himself with a start. This was no way to think. Only bad things came from these kind of thoughts.

* * *

_Flashback to Sioux Falls, South Dakota _  
_Summer of 1989 _  
_Ten year-old Dean is out playing with his younger brother in Uncle Bobby's scrap yard while their dad is off on a hunt. Sam falls and lands on his wrist, scratching it up._

_"Don't worry, Sammy, I'll fix you right up," Dean says, complete seriousness in his tanned and freckled face. Dean leads Sammy back inside and begins to wipe the dirt from the cuts that littered Sam's arm._

_Tears leaking out of Sammy's eyes, the younger brother asks "Did-did-did I b-r-r-eak my m-m-mark?"_

_"Your what?!" Dean exclaimed._

_"My mark," he said. "I found it yesterday on my wrist." Dean looked down and sure enough, a mark shaped like a crown and about the size of a quarter was imprinted on Sammy's wrist._

_"I don't think so? Dean said. "Where did it come from?"_

_"I don't know," Sammy replied, tears finally at a standstill, and eyes now glittering with the thrill of his young curiosity. "Let's go ask Uncle Bobby."_

_"Boys. Didn't your daddy ever tell you nothing?" Bobby Singer said._

_"Yessir," Dean chimed in. "I know all about" shifting to a whisper and covering Sammy's ears, Dean continued "monsters and stuff."_

_"No, son. About markings," Bobby said, once again disappointed with John Winchester._

_"What?! Does that mean I get one, too?" Dean asked excitedly. They sure did look awesome. Maybe he would get one with something cool, like a dragon, he thought, nothing girly like Sammy's._

_"Well, let me tell you, then" Bobby said, a bit flustered when it came to talking about this sort of thing. He pulled a book from his sprawling shelves that lined the inside of his living room. _

**Dating back as far as 300AD, humans began reporting a mark appearing on their bodies at random times. Upon deeper research, it was found that these marks were the physical manifestation of the beginnings of a bond forming. The mark appears when a human's bond-mate is born on Earth. Bonds are unbreakable and considered the highest form of marital status. The bond is eventually completed by joining the two souls together in an intimate ceremony. If one half of the bond-pair dies, the other is destined to live out their days with half their soul, until they join their bond-mate in the afterlife.**

_"So, that means Sammy's bond-mate is born now?" Dean asked._

_"Yes. Somewhere, she's waiting for him," answered Bobby._

_The sound of a door opening and footsteps approaching could be heard._

_"I want a mark, too." Dean said. "Maybe it could be Aaron from my class! He always shares his cars with me!"_

_'What the fuck do you think you're talking about, boy?" John Winchester was home. "I don't want to hear none of your faggot bullshit again! Do you hear me, boy?"_

_Meekly Dean replied, "but I just meant -"_

_"But nothing," John interrupted, "nothing but trouble comes from being a faggot, boy. So I don't want to hear you ever mention a boy like that again. Got it?"_

_"Yes sir."_

_That was the last time Dean ever mentioned Aaron. _

* * *

"Dean? Dean! Are you there?" Dean was jolted from his bitter memory by the sound of his brother's voice. Absentmindedly, he returned to stroking the mystery man's hair.  
"Yeah, I'm here, I was just thinking about-"

Blue eyes sprung open and illuminated with a glow.

Dean dropped the phone.


End file.
